


Breakfast with the Winchesters

by JesiJac



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesiJac/pseuds/JesiJac
Summary: Short about Dean, age 11, getting back from a supply run in town.Contains refences to abuse and suicidal thoughts and actions.
Relationships: Winchester Family (Supernatural) & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	Breakfast with the Winchesters

**Author's Note:**

> First posting, like ever, to feel it out. If you have constructive criticisms, I would love to hear. If you hate it, tell me that too, but please be gentle. If you wanna troll, please don't.  
> This is built on the premise that John has preexisting pattern of abusing his boys.

Already exhausted from the morning, Dean flopped his knapsack onto the threadbare chair of the rundown motel. He'd been out all morning hustling and stealing for food and supplies. His father, cocooned in the worn burgundy comforter, was still passed out from the night before.   
John stirred as Dean shut the door and began unloading his loot he'd swiped from the market on the corner: a few canned foods, sodas, various forms of chips and twists and a few power bars.  
Sammy, Dean's kid brother, peeked at him over the edge of the book he was reading in a corner.

"Dammit all, my head" John croaked.  
"That you Dean? Do me a favor and get me a pill from the bottle in the bathroom.” he muffled through the comforter, peeking through a seam in his cocoon.  
“Whatd'ya got there? Food?  
That's a good boy, Dean. Fix us up some breakfast."

A tiny trickle of pride pricked Dean's chest, as it always did when his father was pleased with him, even in this slight mention, but it seemed to occur less often as of late, so he held onto the small moments it still did.

Dean smiled to himself slightly and grabbed the largest can and a can opener from their bags under the table and took them both to the sink in the bathroom.   
He's a provider now and he did good. 

He curled the can opener around the edge of the can and cranked the wheel a few times, enough to allow liquid through unencumbered and drained the fluid in the bathroom sink and waited for the liquid to dribble to a stop. But it poured . . .

and poured 

and poured

There was a shuffle in the other room and John stood in the bathroom doorway a moment later. 

"Where the hell are those painkillers" he rasped, roughly grabbing for the small amber bottle on the side of the sink and turned to glare at Dean.

"What the hell are you doing?! YOU'RE THROWING FOOD AWAY?!"

"No," Dean insisted, shocked small and quiet by the accusation, "I'm draining the juice ... "

"IT'S BROTH YOU DUMBFUCK!" John shouted, grabbing the can, still half full, throwing it at Dean, "IT'S ALL LIQUID! What kind of dumbass doesn't know that?"

Dean didn't know that. He hadn't even taken time to look at the can's label, let alone discern it's contents. 

"Fuck," John sighed, taking a pill and screwing the cap back on, tossing it in the sink with broth still trailing down the drain. "Do me a favor and take the rest of those and maybe I'll have one less problem to fucking deal with." He mumbled as he staggered back to the bad and rewrapped into his cocoon to hibernate the pain away.

Dean felt crumpled, like old foil that should be thrown away. He'd never thought of it like that before. He knew it was right though. He was a burden. This _was_ his fault. He's not a provider, he's a ruiner. He can't provide for his family right, he can't even open a fucking can of food right. It probably would be easier for everyone . . . . it would be easier for him. His dad wouldn't have to deal with his useless son, he wasn't smart like Sammy, he wasn't strong like his father. He'd be deadweight on hunts, and just so useless everywhere else.

The pill bottle was dabbled with slick residue of the broth. He picked it up as if it were an egg. A delicate dream egg that might make everything better. It'll make things ok again. He slowly unscrewed the top, a hollow digging from his throat to his gut as the weight of what he was doing settled in. It was a big thing. He'll be doing good. He tipped his head and shook the remaining pills into his mouth. He picked up the near empty can from the floor, emptying the rest of that into him too, swallowing the bitter and chicken together and closed the bathroom door to settle in and make himself comfortable.

* * *

The blackness found him quickly, enveloping him in soft whispers of foreign comforts. Soft and cool like silk grazed his face. 

"Hey there little sunshine, why so glum?" 

Dean opened his eyes gradually to take in the shadowed woman, cradling him as if he were a baby again. He'd be offended, but not for the serenity in her embrace. He snuggled into the strange shadow's shoulder.

"I'm no good." Dean said softly to her shoulder. "It's better this way."

"What makes you so sure?" The shadow whispered, soft as velvet.

"My own dad doesn't want me. Your parents love you no matter, right? If they don't, it's because you're wrong and no good."

"What of your brother?" 

"He's smart, dad can use that. They'll be fine"

"Are you sure?" Gently, she unfolded her arms, leaving Dean floating in a abyss as the dark fog cleared away to see the motel room, as if he was above it, looking from the ceiling. 

He saw Sammy, standing in the space between the bed his father slept in and the bathroom, door ajar.  
Still and wide-eyed, like a rabbit between wolves, tears silently streamed down his face.

Dean felt that hollow return and rage in his belly. What had he done to Sammy?

Sammy wasn't supposed to be the one to find him. Dad was supposed to see it, take out the trash and dad and Sammy would be fine. Maybe he might be pleased with Dean for once for doing what needed to be done.

"He is alone with him now," the velvet voice whispered behind him, interrupting his thoughts. "Does you father look like he can take care of the boy?"

Shadows swirled around him and concentrated into spindly points, long fingers like claws gripped him from the stomach and thrust him forward, slamming him back into the bathroom, into his pale lifeless body as it hurled forward, his body slamming into the toilet. Gut lurching, Dean threw his head into the bowl and emptied his stomach, feeling as if he's emptying his whole self into that toilet bowl, among the trash and muck and bile. He sighed and sat back, which seemed to re-upset the beast in his belly, hurling him forward once more, repeating the process, and again and again, until it felt like half a lifetime had passed. His head throbbed and whole self ached. Breathing what felt like his first breaths in ages, he looked up at his brother, standing there still silent and still, wet faced and disheveled. Dean's heart throbbed into his throat in time with his head.

"Dean," Sam squeaked, small and scared as a mouse, "you ok?"

Shame and relief flooded Dean simultaneously. He held his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees, to try and stop it spinning, but also to hide the shame flushing his face. "Ugh, yeah, just had bad broth. Don't worry about it Sammy." He said, rubbing at his burning eyes.

At this explanation, Sam’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh of world ending exhaustion. "Oh, good."  
He looked over his shoulder and grinned, "Dad really got on a bender, huh"

“He was following leads in town.” Dean defended, squinting at Sammy through eyes that felt on fire.

“Yeah,” Sammy scoffed, “and those leads were at the bottom of _all_ the bottles.” He almost started to laugh when he saw Dean glaring at him. He dropped his smile to look sincerely at his big brother.  
“Did he hit you?” He asked meekly.

Dean turned his attention back to his pain. “Sorta” he said, rubbing his aching head, just now noticing the tenderness of his jaw where the can had hit him.  
"I think I grabbed a can of hash," Dean shifted the subject. "Go get it will ya? I’ll make that for breakfast."

“Ok.” Sam offered a small smile. “Thanks for breakfast” 

“I haven’t made it yet’” grunted Dean as he struggled to get up gingerly between head-throbs.

“Yeah,” Sammy shrugged, “but you got it, and you’re _gonna_ make it. It’s more than dad can do. One day he might not come back, but I know you’ll always be here . . . . so thanks.” He offered with a small shrug and walked to the table with the knapsack of cans and sodas and chips and twists.

Dean was still. He wanted to jump up, to defend their father who was a hero! Defend their father who was trying to save people every day! Defend their father who was just trying to avenge his wife.   
Defend their father who they were terrified of from time to time, who they had to walk on egg-shells around when he got into a mood.  
Defend the father that just told his son to end his own life.   
Like a dream he recalled a woman in shadows that carried him out of despair, and lead him back to his brother, lost and crying and suddenly alone . . . .  
with him.  
Sammy always was the smarter one. But he's not strong. Dean would do good after all. Not by his father's account, but by Sammy's, who was too little to be disappointed in him, who was too small to hurt him, who was too fragile to face their father alone. He made a promise to himself that day, to Sammy out there, to the world at large, to that dream-woman in shadow, he would be there for Sammy from now on. Always.

Finally managing to get up, Dean flushed the toilet, the small white dots still semi-solid in the swirling contents. He grabbed the can opener from the counter and followed his brother to the table.

* * *

“Nice Dean, you got the good stuff,” Sammy whispered giddily.  
Taking the can of Hormel’s corned beef hash from Sammy, Dean glanced at the heap of his father. A foreboding slowly began welling inside him. There will be more storms to come. The pill bottle was empty for one. He'll have to answer for that and anything else that may come up later. He didn’t want to think of those right now.

Looking to his grinning baby brother, he whispered, “Let’s take this outside so we won’t wake dad.” And with a shrug he added, “It’s a nice day out anyway, wanna go to the park?  
I can cook these up on foil in one of those barbeques?”  
Sammy nodded enthusiastically and ducked to squirrel his pants and boots from under the table, where their bags were kept. Pulling on his jacket, Sammy also grabbed a couple cokes from the knapsack and followed his brother outside, ever so quietly shutting the door behind them.


End file.
